I get back to my room feeling like I want to throw up, but I don’t.
On the bed is a present, wrapped in garish, multi-coloured paper. I know immediately who it is from, and I bet he chose the paper himself. It is heavy when I pick it up, and about the size of a shoebox, although narrower.
Whatever it is, it is not a VIP Security Bypass card.
I tear open the paper and slide the top off the cardboard box inside.
It is an umbrella.
I pick it up, surprised at the weight. I always thought a good umbrella should be light enough to fit in your handbag. An umbrella? What kind of present is that?
I almost throw it back in the box when it occurs to me that Cam would not give me such a present without a reason.
In a pocket in the side of the box I find instructions, and now I understand the reason for the weight. It is an ‘Unbreakable Umbrella’ and the centre of it is a steel rod. The handle is filled with lead. This is not a fashion accessory; it is a weapon.
I press the button to open the umbrella and it does not open. Instead the handle shoots out with such force that it cracks the edge of my nightstand and only a quick grab saves my bedside lamp from toppling over. I try swinging the umbrella but the weight is all wrong, so I go back to the instructions and find that I am holding the wrong end. You hold the cloth end when you are using it as a weapon.
It is heavier than the wooden swords we use in Kendo, and shorter, but I try out some of the same moves and after an initial adjustment for weight and balance, I think it would work fine.
Funny thing is, the umbrella part works too. It’ll even keep you dry when it rains.
I open the card and see, in Cam’s tidy handwriting: For the times when I can’t be there.
For some reason that makes me want to cry. But I don’t.